


Heroes drabbles

by tigriswolf



Series: Alternate Universe [128]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Gen, Handwaving Left Right and Center, Identity Issues, Immortality, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Outsider, Secret Identity, Superpowers, World Domination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:43:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/pseuds/tigriswolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of my drabbles for Heroes are now here. Lots of AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You made him, now create his equal

**Author's Note:**

> Title: You made him, now create his equal  
> Fandom: Heroes  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; title from _Gilgamesh_.  
>  Warnings: spoilers for season 3; AU for season 4; handwaving all over the place  
> Pairings: none stated  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 910  
> Point of view: third

On Nathan Petrelli’s inauguration day, he told the people to expect change. “A great day is upon us, my friends,” he said. “Be ready.”

The past few years could not be erased, but Petrelli said that a new day dawned. “We have let down our fellow citizens,” the president announced. “We must make amends.”

Dr. Mohinder Suresh stood by Petrelli’s side, as did his brother. His mother stood at his back, her smile seemingly pasted on and fake.

“Darling,” she said as they walked to the limousine. “Now what?”

He kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, Ma,” he assured her. “I know what I’m doing.”

.

“Nice speech,” Luke said as the president settled on the couch.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he replied, cracking his neck and shifting his skin. “I think the people enjoyed it.”

“What are you doing?” Mohinder demanded, looking over his shoulder. “Sylar!”

“Fine, fine.” Sylar sighed and shifted back to Nathan’s face. “You worry too much, Mohinder.” He turned to Molly. “Have you found him yet?”

Molly nodded, eyes going distant. “He’s in Miami.”

The president considered for a moment. “Luke,” he decided, glancing down at the boy. “Take my daughter and Molly; bring him home.”

Luke stood. “Yes, Mr. President,” he said. Molly followed him to the door.

“And Luke,” Petrelli called. “Don’t cause any permanent damage. We want him on our side.”

.

The first few months of his term, President Petrelli repealed many of the restrictions on the specials. He reached out, soothing fears and making allies. He was universally adored, by specials and normals alike.

Specials migrated from all over the world and the other nations began to worry. Some suggested that Petrelli was building an army, and all the president ever did was smile.

He listened to the Joint Chiefs and his other advisors. He shook hands with soldiers and cancer patients, kissed babies, and invited world leaders to the White House for brunch.

When he was up for reelection, he won by a landslide.

.

“Well?” Luke said, slouched against the wall, Molly on one side and Claire on the other.

The president looked at Micah and raised an eyebrow. “Can you do it?”

Micah nodded. “It’ll be difficult—but I think I can.” He opened his eyes and stepped back from the computer. “I don’t suppose you have some sort of power booster.”

“Actually,” Sylar said. “I do.” He walked to the door and called, “Mohinder! Bring Red to the War Room.”

.

Three weeks after Nathan Petrelli’s reelection, a worldwide virus took out computers. It traveled through the internet and shut them down. No matter how the people tried, or the failsafes they had in place, no computer came back on. 

The only exception, though no one talked about it, was the White House.

.

Sylar sat in the Oval Office, the most powerful man in the world.

Peter stared at him, unable to think of a thing to say. He kept opening his mouth and closing it, discarding the words.

“Did—does Mom know?” he finally asked.

Sylar nodded, smiling. “She’s the one who put me in your brother’s skin, Pete. She told Parkman to give me his memories and make me believe I _was_ Nathan Petrelli.” He stood and walked around the desk, stopping in front of Peter. “Your brother will be remembered as the greatest, most beloved president in history.”

“And what are you gonna do?” Peter asked, staring up at Sylar with wet eyes.

“Join me,” Sylar said. “And find out.”

.

The attack on the White House happened at dawn. President Petrelli was killed immediately. At least, that’s what all the records said.

He was remembered as the greatest, most beloved president in the short history of the United States.

.

Sylar took power with an army of specials, though everyone on his side—and soon enough, those who weren’t—knew he didn’t need an army. Anything one of his followers could do, he could do better. But he had one limitation: he couldn’t be in two places at once. Not yet.

Luke said, “What now?”

Sylar shrugged. “I never really thought beyond replacing myself with the right face.”

.

Four weeks after President Petrelli’s death, computers turned back on and nations tried bombing America, hoping to kill Sylar.

“Nice try,” Sylar laughed in worldwide broadcast. “As of now, this planet is mine.”

.

It wasn’t long before people realized that, in all honesty, nothing had changed. So long as no one threatened him or his generals, Sylar seemed to have a live-and-let-live policy.

“You know,” Sylar mused one night to Mohinder, “Sometimes, I wish I could thank Arthur Petrelli.”

“Why?” Mohinder asked.

Sylar smiled. “If he hadn’t shown me a way to harvest abilities without killing, I’d be completely alone.”

.

“So,” Micah said. He looked at Molly shyly. “Wanna go out sometime?”

She grinned, taking his hand. “I like seafood.”

“Oh, I’m gonna barf,” Luke grumbled. “Take the sickeningly sweet display somewhere else, kids.”

Claire chuckled. “I think they’re cute.”

Luke cut the deck in two, giving her half. “You would.”

.

“Mom,” Peter asked. “Did you… is this what you wanted?”

Angela looked down the row of tombstones, at the people who died because they wouldn’t compromise with Sylar, couldn’t see past what he’d once been.

“No,” she answered quietly. “But I learned a long time ago to make the best of things.”

 _And to wait_ , she didn’t say. She turned her face to the sky and savored the sunlight on her skin.


	2. Child of the scars of fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Child of the scars of fire  
> Fandom: Heroes  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Carl Sandburg  
> Warnings: "I Am Become Death" future!fic  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 220  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: Heroes, Noah Gray/author's choice, Nightmare Fuel Coloring Book

"Don't worry," Dr. Calson tells her, her very first day on the floor. "You'll get used to it." He gives her an encouraging grin and she tries smiling back.

She doesn't want to be here. She wants to help, she really does, but...

 _Please,_ Rebel texts her then, just as her determination is wavering. _We need him_.

So she takes a deep breath, steels herself, and goes to sit with Noah Gray. Sylar's son.

 _His father's sins are not his,_ Angela Petrelli told her. _He's a good kid,_ Peter said. But Bennet summed it up best when he muttered, _We need him_.

Another deep breath. It's hard not to keep a wary eye out for Sylar, because no one knows where he is, not since he destroyed Costa Verde and only three people survived—Peter, Claire, and Noah. Noah hasn't spoken since. All he does is draw broken watches and mushroom clouds, and a new special is sent to watch him every week. It's her turn for the next seven days.

Dr. Calson says, "He is a very sweet boy. Such a shame." She nods, looking down at Noah, at his shaggy hair and big eyes, at the crayon mushroom cloud exploding from a cracked watch-face.

 _sylar_ is scrawled along the outside of the watch-face, and Dr. Calson is smiling.

 


	3. known but forbidden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: known but forbidden  
> Fandom: Heroes  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Anne Sexton  
> Warnings: future!fic  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount:220  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: Author's choice; author's choice; God screamed and screamed, then I ate him.

Gabriel Gray used to dream about changing the world. When Gabriel realized that he was only special by stealing powers, he ceased to be and Sylar rose from his ashes, Sylar without regret or remorse, Sylar in a fire of rage and despair. And as Sylar, he collected dozens of powers, mastering them all, but then, _then_ —

Even Sylar balked at destroying an entire city.

Things happened, though, and eventually Sylar lost that last tiny piece of a conscience. He learned how to steal the power without killing, and then ignored the lesson.

And now Sylar has an entire carnival of people to study, though Sylar doesn't know he's Sylar. He's Gabriel again, after having been Nathan, but a monster only sleeps for so long.

And Gabriel learns two dozen powers without even knowing it, and Claire reveals their existence to the world, and Sylar laughs, spreading his wings and roaring to the forefront, and Peter shouts, "Gabriel, _don't_!"

But Sylar gazes out of Gabriel's eyes, and there is no one in the world with the ability to stop him, for Sylar commands them all.

Even God runs from him now.

(Gabriel Gray dreamed of changing the world. Sylar reforms the world to his whim, and when God protests, Sylar cuts open his head to see just how the Creator works.)


	4. locks torn wide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: locks torn wide  
> Disclaimer: not my characters  
> Warnings: spoilers for season 3; AU  
> Pairings: implied Sylar/Mohinder  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 345  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: breaking through

When he remembers, it's not some big thing that jogs his memory. It's so small that no one else notices.

His watch is off by three-point-five seconds and it's driving him mad. Thing is, Nathan Petrelli has never restored timepieces(and why is that the phrase that comes to mind? Why not _watchmaker_?) and would not have ever noticed the time off by such an infinitesimal amount.

But he _does_. And while he's alone in his room, trying to take it apart because he has to fix it, all the walls in his mind come crumbling down.

Sylar restores the timepiece in ten seconds, telekinesis still his strongest ability, while he's seething. "Parkman," he hisses. "Angela. Bennet."

"Nathan!" he hears his fake mother call. "Sweetheart, time for lunch! Peter's waiting."

He quickly shifts back into that hated body, Nathan's memories clamoring to reclaim him. "Of course, Mother," he murmurs. "Let's not keep Pete waiting."

Sylar puts on his watch and goes downstairs, where he calls Angela _Ma_ and kisses her cheek. Now that he's looking for it, he sees the set of her shoulders, the uncomfortable expression on her face—just a moment, and then it's gone, and she's smiling at Nathan, her firstborn son.

The monster finally freed from his cage imagines her skull torn open and smiles.

o0o

After lunch, when Ma-Mother-Angela-Warden is napping and Peter's gone back to work, Sylar decides to pay Mohinder a visit. He wonders how long it will take Mohinder to notice that 'Nathan' isn't acting very Nathan-like.

Mohinder greets him with a smile and a name he now loathes; Sylar follows him around the lab as he explains his newest breakthrough in research.

"What's wrong?" Mohinder finally asks. "You're quiet."

Sylar gives him a shy smile with Nathan's face and says, "Just thinking. Your father would be proud of you, Mohinder."

Mohinder replies sincerely, "Thank you, Nathan."

"We'll remake the world," Sylar tells him.

"We've already tried that, Nathan," Mohinder says. "Remember that debacle?"

"Mohinder," Sylar purrs, dropping Nathan's mask and stretching to his full height. "I haven't tried yet."


	5. a falling dove

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: a falling dove  
> Disclaimer: not my characters  
> Warnings: preseries  
> Pairings: none  
> Rating: PG  
> Wordcount: 165  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: Gabriel (+ or / any, if desired), he fears someone is going to figure out what he's done.

Gabriel still thinks he can be saved. All it would take is someone - _anyone_ \- noticing what he's doing - _so much blood, so many tears_ \- and he can still be saved. Rescued from the hunger, from the power and the pain, from the begging and screaming and damning desire.

Gabriel still thinks he's a good man. Someone doing his best to live quietly, to not hurt others, to simply exist without harm. Gabriel still thinks there's hope for him.

Gabriel thinks that a good steak dinner with potatoes can fill him up, sate him, send him to bed happy, and Mom is just the person to make him that meal.

(Sylar knows better. Sylar knows he can't be saved, that he never could've been, and it doesn't matter if anyone figures out what he's doing. Soon enough, he'll be so powerful that no one can stop him.

Gabriel thinks he's normal. Sylar knows better.

Sylar knows just how special Gabriel truly is, and he's waiting to show the world.)


	6. what little girl doesn’t dearly love a wolf?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: what little girl doesn’t dearly love a wolf?  
> Fandom: Heroes  
> Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Carol Ann Duffy  
> Warnings: future!fic; AU at some point  
> Pairings: Sylar/Claire  
> Rating: PGish  
> Wordcount: 270  
> Point of view: third  
> Prompt: Sylar/Claire, I wanna be bad

It only takes a hundred years. Looking back later, she'll realize how short a time that is for an immortal. But then, then it felt like every moment dragged.

He never actually touches her. Kills everyone she cares about, Mom and Lyle and Dad. Both dads. Peter. She still tries not to think about that, about what it took for Peter to die.

But she watches the years pass, the changes in society, babies wither to nonagenarians. She never ages, never gets a wrinkle or a scar. Never bleeds for longer than a heartbeat.

He's always there. She can feel him when she can't see him, a puff of air on the back of her neck, a shiver down her spine.

But he never touches her. Never speaks to her. Just always there, the only other one like her in existence.

He kills everyone else. Anyone cursed with that little twist in their genetic code. He finds them and takes their ability and leaves a corpse behind. She never gets there soon enough because she's only a healer.

She used to bring them back, in those first decades, if she got there before the funeral, before the reporters, before the police. That only happened a couple of times.

But after a hundred years, she's tired of being the hero. It's exhausting and she's alone. She misses people who knew, who understood.

He's a monster, but he's the only one left.

He hasn’t touched her in a hundred years and she still shudders at the feel of his skin on hers. But she’ll get used to it.

Eventually, she’ll crave it.


End file.
